


Dressed in Holiday Style

by perfectlystill



Series: A Real Thing [3]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: (had to look up what exactly Kid Fic means), Christmas Fluff, F/M, Holidays, Kid Fic, matching pajamas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21784096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlystill/pseuds/perfectlystill
Summary: It took him eleven years, but they have matching pairs of flannel pajamas in their hamper. Lia wants to save the PJs for Christmas Eve and have everyone wear them to bed, opening presents in the morning looking like the Partridge family.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: A Real Thing [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1529864
Comments: 32
Kudos: 164





	Dressed in Holiday Style

**Author's Note:**

> For my truncated version of [positivelyglowing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/positivelyglowing/pseuds/positivelyglowing)'s [12 Day of Promptmas](https://spiderman-homecomeme.tumblr.com/post/189131059410/twelve-days-of-promptmas), using concept 33: Matching PJs, dialogue 17: "Do you like it?" "I love it," and dialogue 26: "Why are you staring at me?" "Nothing… You just look really cute right now."
> 
> Title from "Silver Bells."

Michelle leans her hip against the counter and stirs the minestrone -- the second half of the batch Peter made a few weeks ago, carefully scooped into a dated, plastic bag and frozen for later. 

She hears him outside, voice a quiet murmur through the door. 

When Peter gets it open, Lia shoots inside. “Mommy, mommy, mommy!” she says. “Guess what me and dad got?”

MJ hums, glancing at the ceiling as she pretends to think. “A soft pretzel?”

Lia wrinkles her nose. “Yes.”

“I thought I told you and Dad you shouldn’t eat at the mall?” She glances at Peter, amused. Giving the soup one more stir, MJ taps the wooden spoon against the pot, setting it on the spoon rest Lia painted for her birthday. Very clever of Peter, considering he does most of the cooking.

“We shared!” Lia offers, proud of herself. Around the time Ben was born, Lia’s knack for sharing waned, and Peter and MJ received some complaints from one of her preschool teachers. She’s improving though. See: the pretzel. 

“You’ll eat your dinner?” Michelle asks. 

“I promise, Mommy.” 

“And if you can’t finish it?”

“I’ll take one for the team and eat the rest.” Peter says, having hung up his coat and set down the bags from their holiday shopping. “I only got half a pretzel.”

MJ laughs, letting Peter brush her hair over her shoulder and kiss her cheek. “I’ll let it slide. But only because of that super-metabolism.”

“Thanks.” He glances at Lia. She huffs and puffs, pulling her arm out of her jacket and tossing it onto the floor. “Where are you supposed to put that?”

“I can’t reach!” she says, pointing to the hooks by the door.

“You can ask Mommy or me for help,” Peter suggests. 

Lia sighs, picking it back up. “Please help me with my coat.” No inflection, and not a request. 

“Because you asked so nicely,” Peter says, taking the charcoal gray coat, multicolored dinosaurs printed all over it. 

Michelle stirs the soup again, lowering the heat. “Did you meet Santa?”

“Yes! He said I’d get a bike!”

“He did?”

“Yes!”

“I think he said he’d try his best to make you a bike,” Peter corrects, ruffling her hair.

“He’s Santa, Dad,” Lia says, rolling her eyes. 

“Yeah, Dad,” Michelle echoes, smirking. They picked out a bright red eyesore back in October. Lia’s favorite color, and easy to spot at the park. “Can you wake up Ben?” she asks Peter. “If he naps much longer he won't be able to sleep tonight.”

Peter agrees, reminding Lia to show Michelle what they bought at the mall. 

“Don’t look,” Lia orders, rifling through the bags by the door. 

“Promise.” MJ turns off the stove, grabbing three bowls from the cabinet. She ladles the minestrone into the first bowl, transferring it to the kitchen table. It’s a small flea market buy, just big enough for four place settings, the napkin holder and bowl of rolls. “Shit,” MJ mutters. 

She forgot the rolls.

Peter emerges from Ben’s room, brushing his hair off his forehead. 

“Mommy said a bad word,” Lia tattles. She’s inherited Peter’s brown, curly hair, his sweet smile, and his obnoxious superhearing. 

“She did,” Peter agrees.

“Sorry,” Michelle says. “I forgot to make rolls.”

Peter settles Ben into his high chair. “The soup has noodles.”

“I like noodles,” Lia offers, holding out a box. “This is for you, Mommy.”

MJ crouches down, grabbing the box from Lia. It’s a set of holiday plaid pajamas. “Thank you, honey, but you’re supposed to wait until Christmas to give me a present.”

“No, me and Dad got matching ‘jamas!”

Michelle glances at Peter putting together Ben’s dinner plate. “Matching pajamas, huh?”

“Yeah!” Lia grins. “I’ll be just like you!”

“And I’ll be just like you,” MJ says, opening her arms. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Mommy.” Lia springs forward to hug her, stumbling a little on her toes, fists grabbing at MJ’s sweater. 

Squeezing a dollop of lotion onto her palm, MJ rubs it into her hands and up her wrists. “I cannot believe you used our daughter to force me to wear matching pajamas.”

Peter suggested matching holiday pajamas their first winter in their first apartment. Perfect for a holiday card, he’d said. MJ had cringed. She considered customized holiday cards, matching pajamas, and taking pictures to share with the world in said pajamas gross and tacky. 

It took him eleven years, but they have matching pairs of flannel pajamas in their hamper. Lia wants to save the PJs for Christmas Eve and have everyone wear them to bed, opening presents in the morning looking like the Partridge family. 

“You can definitely believe that,” Peter decides, looking up at MJ as she slides into bed. “It was almost her idea.”

“Was it?”

“Yep.” Peter grins. “They had a display, and I mentioned getting some for Ben and us, and Lia didn’t want you to feel left out.”

Michelle rolls her eyes. “It’s so corny, Peter.”

“You married corny.” 

“I was eighteen, and I shouldn’t be held accountable.”

“You’ve had plenty of time to back out since then,” Peter says, pulling the covers up higher as Michelle lies down and turns toward him. “I think you secretly like it.”

“Nope.”

“You’re right. Probably not much of a secret.”

MJ purses her lips, trying her best to glare. But Peter looks warm and golden in the glow of their lamps, and her heart still pitter-patters whenever he stares at her with soft, molten eyes, as if she’s the personification of the sun itself (very corny). 

His gaze only breaks with a yawn.

She twists back, switching off her light.

Peter’s blinking sleepy slow at her. He woke up just after three to a crime alert, climbing back inside around seven. 

MJ rests her head on her pillow. She smiles, shifting to nudge her knee against his. “Turn off your light, loser.” 

“Too tired,” he complains, letting his eyes drift shut for a few seconds before opening them again. 

“Peter.” She knocks her knee harder against his. “I will wrestle you off this bed.”

“Sounds dreamy.”

She snorts. 

His smile is lazy, small, and he grunts as he lifts up onto his elbow, reaching to turn off his lamp.

Peter finds her wrist, swiping his thumb over the bone, and MJ shifts, allowing herself to be tucked underneath his chin. He wraps his arms around her, shucks up her top to splay his warm palm against the small of her back. 

“You’re gonna look so cute in your PJs,” he whispers, his breath hot and light ghosting over her hair. 

She hums in agreement, sleepy and comfortable, mind already turning hazy. 

MJ stuffs her gloves into her coat pocket, unwinds her scarf and pulls off her hat. The snow is melting against the bottom of her curls. The wind nipped at her skin, leaving her cheeks feeling dry and chapped. 

“Smells good!” she calls. 

Peter’s head pops up from behind the sofa. “About twenty minutes. Vegetable baked ziti.” 

“Perfect.” She hangs up her coat and hat, unzipping her boots and setting them on the shoe rack -- another birthday present -- before making her way into the apartment. Peter and Ben have spread out Ben’s thick, wooden puzzles on the floor of the living space.

Ben tries to place the squirrel in the rabbit’s slot. 

“How was your day?” Peter asks.

“Good.” Michelle places a hand on his shoulder, bending down to kiss him before folding her limbs and settling between him and Ben. Smoothing her hand over Ben’s head, she places a kiss on the crown. “Hi, Ben.”

“Mommy home,” he says, smile and eyes wide. 

“Yeah, Mommy’s home,” she agrees. She picks up the rabbit piece, placing it in the correct spot. “Did you have a good day?”

“Yes.” He tilts his chin up, puckering his lips.

MJ chuckles, leaning down and tapping her cheek for a kiss. He plants one, a little sloppy. “Thank you, sweetie.” 

“You welcome, Mommy.”

“You started voir dire today?” Peter asks. 

“Yep.” Michelle rubs at her temple. “The judge held one guy in contempt, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Don’t people know how easy it is to get out of jury duty?”

“He kept talking about how we’re all from Pangaea.” She shakes her head, rolling her shoulders back. “I don’t know why we’re even starting jury selection when the trial’s going to be put on hold for the holidays.”

“I’m sorry, Em,” Peter says. 

She groans. “How was your day?”

“Good. Ben and I went to storytime at the library. I vacuumed; washed the floors. Ben was a little fussy going down for his nap, but he’s good now. Aren’t you, Ben?” Peter pokes him in the stomach, causing him to squirm and giggle. “Lia will tell you all about Kindergarten. She learned the letter L today.”

MJ grins. “L for Lia, and D for Dahlia.”

“She has two first names,” Peter says. 

Lia understands Lia is short for Dahlia, will explain it to any stranger she meets while also insisting she has four names: Lia Dahlia May Parker. 

“We also stopped at the store on the way home--”

“Mommy!” Lia shouts, rushing out of her room wearing flannel pajamas, a dark navy with little polar bears printed all over them. She skids to a halt.

“No running in the house,” Peter says.

“Apartment,” Lia corrects, spinning around. The tag sticks out the back of the pajama top. She stumbles as she stops, holding her hands out to steady herself. “How do I look?”

“Very cute,” MJ says. 

“Daddy got them for you, too.” Lia grabs Michelle’s hand and starts tugging. “Do you want to try yours on?”

“Maybe later,” MJ says.

“You want to go change, wash your hands and get ready for dinner?” Peter asks Lia. 

“Can I help set the table?”

“Sure.”

“Awesome.” Lia’s little fingers are already working the top button of her pajamas as she heads back toward her room. 

Michelle raises an eyebrow. “Again?”

“The kids grew out of theirs,” he says, watching Ben turn the last puzzle piece into the right spot. 

“Good job, Ben! You’re so smart. May I have a high-five?” Peter holds his hand up, palm out, and Ben reaches forward, slapping it as requested. 

“Thank you,” Ben says. He’s quieter and more polite than Lia, Peter and MJ’s attempts to instill manners sticking more readily. 

“It could have been a one time thing,” MJ says. 

Ben reaches for a new puzzle, and Peter helps scoot it toward him. He catches MJ’s eye. “You can’t start a tradition that way.”

She sighs. “You could try finding coordinating sets instead of identical ones?”

“Lia likes the identical ones.”

“You’re incorrigible.” 

“I love you, too.” Peter pushes himself up, MJ watching his arm muscles shift underneath his sleeves. 

“Massage tonight?” she asks, rubbing at the top of her spine with three fingers. 

“Mmhmm,” Peter hums, glancing at her with a little more heat. She rolls her eyes, and he smirks before looking toward the kitchen. “Thirteen minutes.”

“Ben and I will finish our puzzle and be there.”

The next year, Peter takes Lia and Ben to the mall, returning with soft, red pajama pants covered in red and white polka dots, accompanied by long-sleeved, deep green, cotton pajama tops.

“The best we could get for Toni is a forest green onesie,” Peter says, apologetic. 

“Anna,” MJ corrects. 

It’s a losing battle. Both Lia and Ben referring to their sister as Toni, too. Regardless, MJ is going to act miffed for at least another week. 

“We grabbed some red and white striped leggings for her, though.” 

“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”

Peter keeps up the tradition, and every year Michelle is forced to wear matching pajamas Christmas morning while their family opens presents. 

She complains on Christmas Eve, gifts, wrapping paper and ribbons spread across her and Peter’s bedroom floor, door locked in case any of the kids wake up and come looking. 

Peter apologizes, smile always edging around his mouth, the words sounding increasingly hollow as the years pass. 

They wrap the presents, MJ’s always looking neat and professional, Peter’s paper a little too loose around boxes. MJ organizes the gifts evenly underneath the tree while Peter fills the stockings. He drinks the warming milk left out for Santa, and they split the sugar cookies before he apologizes for the stupid reindeer pajamas with his mouth, and it’s much more convincing than his bland, “Sorry, Em.”

The sun has already set; the sky outside the window dark blue bleeding into black. Michelle’s hands are cold, and she suspects the heat isn’t working efficiently. She’ll have to check the thermostat. 

“Can I finish after we eat?” Lia asks, blowing her bangs away from her forehead.

MJ keeps her spoon moving through the stir-fry. “No.”

“Moooooom,” she whines.

“You have to shower and read after dinner.”

Lia grumbles, and MJ watches her shade the corner of her page instead of concentrating on the next division equation. Ben sits next to her, tongue between his teeth as he colors a zebra purple and blue. Toni has scattered her ABC Learning Locks all around, attempting to jam a key into the wrong one.

Michelle’s exhausted, but it’s good. A thick sense of home washing over her as she shifts vegetables around the wok. 

They dipped into Peter’s absurd Stark trust fund to buy their house before Toni was born, a better use of their money than the overpriced apartment they had been renting. It’s not so different, aside from another bedroom and bathroom, a further walk to the bus, and a small patch of dirt to grow flowers in during the summer. 

It feels permanent. Their kids are going to grow up here. Peter and MJ are going to grow old here. 

But MJ knows they might move again. 

She feels burnt out practicing law. The system is broken, and the discouragements outweigh the victories. Judgeship is an option, or she might want to teach. Peter’s encouraging, listens to her rationale and earnestly says she can do anything: “I believe in you.”

It feels profound coming from him. No matter how many times he says it, it wiggles its way between her ribs, warm and heavy in her chest like a comforting weighted blanket. 

Peter must have another (another) sense, must know when Michelle is thinking of him, because he pushes the door open, calling from the entryway, “Guess what I found?”

Lia perks up. “What?”

MJ huffs a laugh. 

Peter enters the kitchen, untangling a hanger and pulling it out of his large, department store bag. The pajamas this year are black, colorful Christmas lights printed all over them. 

Absolutely hideous. 

“Ew,” Lia says. 

“You don’t like them?” Peter frowns. “I can take them back. We could go next weekend and see if there’s anything else.”

“Daddy,” Toni gurgles, clambering to her feet. 

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Pick up,” she says, hands raised, fingers and thumb coming together in a grabbing motion. 

“Pick me up, please,” Peter corrects, but he’s already setting the bag down to scoop her into his arms. “You want to go Saturday?” Peter asks Lia. 

She grimaces. “I don’t want to wear any of those family pajamas. I’m too old for that.”

“Oh,” Peter says. “Okay. Sure. That’s your decision to make.”

Ben looks up from his coloring, a small wrinkle between his eyebrows. “I’ll wear mine.”

“Great.” Peter smiles, blinks, and turns to the three-year-old in his arms. “You want your pajamas, Toni?”

“Yes! Yes!” She reaches out, tugging on the collar of Peter’s shirt. 

“Yes,” he repeats before catching Michelle’s eye. “What about you?”

It’s an out. She’s been complaining about the tacky, identical holiday pajamas for years.

MJ shrugs. “It’s tradition, right?”

“You don’t have to,” he says, but he beams. Michelle still loves him just as much as she did at 18. Sometimes it feels remarkably the same, and other times it feels deeper, settled and cozy and remarkably different. 

“You and Lia could do your own thing,” he continues. 

“I’m not matching Mom,” Lia says. “That’s _embarrassing_.”

“You heard her. I don’t want to embarrass her.”

“Mooooom,” Lia whines. 

Her whines turn into groans of “Ew, ew ,ew,” when Peter walks across the kitchen, murmuring “Thank you,” against MJ’s lips.

Peter doesn’t return Lia’s pajamas. He wants her to have them for her collection, even if she’s not going to wear them to open presents (or at all). 

On Christmas Eve, Michelle reads _‘Twas the Night Before Christmas_ to all three kids before Peter tucks Toni into bed. 

She follows Ben to his room, letting him pick another book from his shelf. MJ has him turn the pages and relents when he asks for one more story, and then she pulls the covers over his shoulders while he grabs his favorite stuffed elephant, a comfort item replacing his nightlight. 

She kisses his forehead. “Goodnight, Ben. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

She smiles, flips off the light and quietly shuts the door behind her. 

Michelle walks down the hall, knocking on Lia’s door.

“Come in.”

Lia looks up, _The Miserable Mill_ propped open on her lap. Lia’s a voracious reader. Sometimes Peter and MJ think she’s asleep, and they retreat downstairs, finish up some work or housework, cuddle on the sofa and watch a documentary, but when they head to bed, her light is back on.

Peter left for patrol at eleven one night, crawling back through the window not a minute later to inform MJ that Lia was still awake. 

It’s a rebellious streak MJ understands. 

“Hey,” MJ says, sitting on the edge of Dahlia’s bed. “Those Christmas pajamas your dad bought are in your dresser.”

Lia frowns. “Dad said I don’t have to wear them.”

“I know. But it would mean a lot to him if you did. It’d be like your Christmas present to him.”

“I already got him a new wallet.”

MJ swallows and relaxes her jaw so she doesn’t grind her teeth. “You know how Ben always wants to be read _Julian is a Mermaid_?”

“Yeah.”

“And sometimes neither of us want to read it to him because it feels like we just did?” Lia nods. “But we do it anyway. Because it makes him happy.”

“So, you’re saying I have to wear the pajamas?” Lia asks.

“It is very important to your dad and I that you know you can wear whatever makes you feel comfortable. But you used to love wearing the pajama sets your dad would buy, and it would be nice of you to wear yours for a few hours tomorrow morning for him and your siblings.” She pauses, trying to gauge if Lia is really listening. “Christmas isn’t just about opening presents, Dahlia.”

“Okay,” Dahlia sighs. “I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” A beat. “Do I have to go to bed now?”

Michelle gently nudges her leg. “No. Thirty minutes, okay?”

“Okay.”

Michelle doesn’t know whether she or Peter is more surprised when they shuffle downstairs the next morning, Toni’s hand wrapped around MJ’s. Lia sits on the sofa, candy cane already open and hanging out of her mouth as she reads. Wearing her ugly Christmas pajamas. 

Peter’s so excited he lets her eat the candy cane, and MJ likes the way Peter’s eyes light up, so she mouths _Thank you_ to Lia and doesn’t make her wrap it up and eat a nutritious breakfast instead. 

Peter waits until Toni turns nine.

She’s already more independent than Lia or Ben were then. Less rebellious and smart-mouthed than her older sister, sure, but Toni likes to do things herself and without being asked. 

“Do you guys want to do the pajama thing this year?” Peter asks, scooping more mashed potatoes onto his plate. 

Lia tilts her head, raising her eyebrows as she looks at Michelle. She’d still rather not participate, but the last couple of years it’s been less of a struggle convincing her to wear her red, white and green, wavy striped pajamas. At sixteen, she’s willing to match her family on Christmas morning. In the comfort of her own home. Where none of her friends can see her. No photos allowed.

(At least not on social media.)

“Not really,” Toni says. 

Ben shrugs. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

Peter looks around the table, face blank but eyes betraying him. “Okay. We’ll skip it.”

The presents are out, still two for each kid from Santa even though their family has never been to a christian church service, and Santa isn’t christian (St. Nicholas is a different story), and Lia had a bat mitzvah when she turned thirteen. 

MJ and Peter share the cookies Toni left out, and Peter downs the milk in a few gulps. 

Michelle’s not sure Toni still believes in Santa, almost wondering if she worries about those two presents disappearing if she fesses up.

Nonetheless, MJ’s too scared to ask, just in case she ruins her daughter psychologically. The milk and cookies are out, so the presents from Santa are, too; their labels printed at Michelle’s office so there’s no handwriting that matches the scrawl on the gifts from Mom and Dad. 

MJ ties her hair into a bun on top of her head, follows her skincare routine, brushes, flosses, and leans against the door jamb between the master bathroom and her bedroom until Peter looks up from his iPad. 

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“Nothing,” MJ says, walking to her side of the bed. “You just look really cute right now.”

Peter grins at her, dopey and lopsided. 

Michelle’s reminded how alive her love for him is, a growing, learning thing bouncing around inside her. 

She slides underneath the sheets. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He smiles wider. 

Michelle leans forward to kiss him, one hand splaying against his shoulder. Peter moves his mouth against hers, hand sliding to cup the back of her neck, tilting her head. She shuffles, swinging her leg over his lap. 

“Wanna make a baby?” he asks.

She rolls her eyes. “Probably too old for that.”

“Maybe not,” he counters, fiddling with the hem of her top. “I might have super sperm.”

Michelle giggles, sitting back on his thighs and dropping her forehead to his shoulder. “You’re so stupid. If we had another kid, it’d still be like, three years before they’d want to wear matching holiday pajamas.”

“I never even got the menorah ones, MJ.”

“You probably shouldn’t have made it a Christmas tradition, then.”

“You’re so smart,” he says, hand pressing underneath her shirt, running warm against her side. “You always think of everything.”

“I have a present for you.”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” he says dumbly.

“It’s a Christmas Eve present,” she repeats, climbing off him and heading toward their closet. 

“Christmas Eve presents are usually given in bed,” he says, and she hears it muffled, standing on her toes to pull the box down from the top shelf, expertly wrapped in shiny, silver paper. 

“You’re in bed,” MJ points out. 

Peter nods. “Right.”

MJ climbs back onto the bed, kneeing her way toward him and handing him the box. “Open it.”

He glances at her, nervous and excited in a way that means he has no idea what it is. He tries to pick at the tape, wiggles his thumb underneath the seam, but he gets impatient, ripping up and tearing the paper. 

Peter stares down, fingers feeling the indent between the two boxes. He blinks, mouth parting. Quiet. 

“Do you like it?” MJ asks.

Peter runs his hand over the clear part of the box, looking at the navy blue pajamas covered in silver snowflakes. Even though he knows, he shifts the top box, looking at the matching pair in the one below it. “I love it.”

“Good.”

He looks up at her, tears welling in his eyes “Em, you didn’t have to--”

“I wanted to.”

“You’ve always thought it was stupid and--”

“I _wanted to_ , Peter.” She grabs his hand, lacing her fingers through his. “I will wear corny, matching pajamas on Christmas Day with you every year for the rest of my life if it makes you happy.”

“You are the best wife in the world,” he says, squeezing her hand. 

“I know.” A beat, thinking: “Or the first night of Hanukkah. With the menorah pajamas.”

Peter, careless with her gift, shoves the boxes to the floor, rolling Michelle over and kissing her, deep and longing. She can feel how much he loves her as she sinks into the mattress, one hand carding through his hair as he plants quick, loving kisses all over her face, smearing his way from her forehead to the tip of her nose to her chin. 

“I love you so much,” he whispers against her mouth. 

“I love you, too.”

“Those pajamas are the best Christmas gift I’ve ever gotten,” Peter says, fingertips tracing underneath the stretched out collar of her shirt, finding her collarbone. 

“Only took me 26 years,” MJ jokes. 

Peter laughs, muffled against the thin skin of her throat, pressing his thanks against her pulse as best he can.


End file.
